


To be an Angel

by leafyxthiefy



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angstgalore, F/M, Human Sacrifice, Read the warnings, The Author Regrets Nothing, actually months but still, angel au, or does she, seriously no one is safe, this has been in the makings for years, what are feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 21:37:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leafyxthiefy/pseuds/leafyxthiefy
Summary: Angels are beautiful in appearance, they are the most enthralling creatures to have graced this world and the next. But beauty hides such a dark and twisted secret. What people view as Angels are nothing more than Demons void of compassion, their evil nature is simply disguised underneath an ethereal mask of purity.Thatch doesn’t believe in the supernatural, not in Demons, Angels, Gods or Cosmic Beings. He was living his life as normally as he could. Thatch had a well paying job, his own place and his hectic life was finally in order. Until one fateful night Thatch awoke in an unfamiliar place shackled, alone, and afraid. He had been chosen, that’s what the people around him said. The people who were too beautiful for words, these strangers with the gorgeous wings and the mesmerizing faces; but they are cold and uncaring, they don’t see Thatch as a person. All of them see him as nothing but a sacrificial pawn, except for one: Izo.





	To be an Angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NamelessAnami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelessAnami/gifts).



> Hey Guys!~ I am back with another new one, but! This one I am happy to say that I have advanced alot on, so updates on this one wont be a problem anytime soon. I had originally planned on releasing this for this year's One Piece Big Bang but my plans fell through due things out of both my partners and my control.
> 
> Anyway, we hope you enjoy this tale of angst! Which brings us to the **warnings/triggers that will occur throughout the story: Violence, Psychological Torture / Torture reference, Other graphic violence, Kidnapping, Restraint, Involuntary Nudity, Sacrificial Ritual, Major Character Death; **There may be more, but the others will be added as they make themselves known.****
> 
> As always, I own nothing in regards to One Piece nor any other referenced media. Enjoy!~

Do you know what makes an Angel, an Angel?

To be an Angel, an entity must be serene, clean of body, mind, and soul. An Angel is perceived as the epitome of beauty and grace, they are the living embodiment of purity, kindness, and love. At least, that is what Angels have been romanticized to become over the amounted centuries and millennia.

Thatch did not believe in Angels, Demons, Devils, nor Gods. He believed in the magic of karma and the occasional unexplained occurrence that was the universe messing with or helping the world.

And that was why Thatch could not believe what he was not looking at–mainly due to the lack of light that obscured his environment in pitch black–in that moment. Thatch had been asleep less than three hours ago. He had been _in_ his bed inside his small and cozy little one bedroom apartment on the 6th floor of a large complex within the city of Little Garden. But Thatch was no longer looking at his amazingly comfortable tiger printed bedsheets. No, now he was looking at absolutely _nothing_.

The only thing he could see was the dark onyx colored curtain that consumed all light before him and deprived Thatch his vision. Thatch knew for a fact that he had his eyes open and that he was capable of blinking, yet that did nothing to help him. The shade of black before him was still an indiscernible obsidian, Hell, it was so dark that Thatch couldn't even see his hand no matter how close he pressed it against his face. All Thatch could gather in that moment was that he was in a dank cold place that reeked of bodily fluids he would rather not name.

And by the feel of it, Thatch knew that his Sogeking printed pj's were plastered against his frame with what he hoped was his own sweat. Thatch was definitively not looking forward to when he would have to take them to the cleaners and have to explain how they had gotten into such conditions, but he supposed that was future Thatch's problem.

Thatch's brow furrowed as a chill ran up and down his spine making him shiver on the spot. Why was it so cold?! And where in all that was sweet and delicious was he? Blinking Thatch rose from where he was resting against the cold damp wall and found himself unable to move properly.

Grunting Thatch and pulled at his leg once more only to receive the same result, the clinks and chimes of chains and a cold iron bracelet cutting into his skin. An immediate frown came to his features as he blindly reached down to his ankles where sure enough he was greeted with freezing iron clamps.

What in heavenly fudge was happening? Thatch took a deep breath and tried to think of which of his friends and family were capable of pulling such an elaborate prank. This wasn't Haruta's style at all so she was eliminated from the list. As was Marco, the goody two shoes wouldn't actually go through with any of his promises no matter how much he swore he did. And Rakuyo was not any better, in fact he was considerably more mellow than Marco. Jozu was too big of a softie. Vista was… just not great with pranks they were always too underwhelming and quite frankly boring, seriously placing a bucket on the other side of the door in order to make someone step in it was so elementary school if you asked Thatch.

And then there was Blamenco, the dude seemed more the type but Thatch doubted he was this smart, and Namur was too busy for such things considering he was in the middle of the ocean volunteering in the fight against whale sharks and their environment, you know just being a marine biologist and whatnot.

So that left Thatch with no one to blame, which was in itself unsettling.

Thatch sighed and felt around his immediate area only to have a seriously disturbing shiver crawl up his spine and make his stomach do flip flops when his hand brushed against a sticky mushy lump.

Thatch pulled his hand back as quickly as he could before rubbing it vigorously against the fabric of his pj bottoms. He was ruining them further with the mystery goo, Thatch knew this, but in that moment Thatch did not care, he just wanted the stuff off of his hands as quickly as he could.

The sensation remained, however, and Thatch couldn't help but try and shrink back into himself. All the while the unforgiving chain chimed, reminding him of its presence with every move he made, as if the cold iron grip on him was not enough.

This wasn't a prank…

That thought repeated in a loop inside his head. His family knew Thatch was not a fan of the dark either because he had told them of his adherence to it or they had been told of it. Thatch was not afraid of the dark. He just didn't like it, that was all.

All friendly pranks were for fun and games, shits and giggles. So Thatch knew without a doubt that his friends and most importantly his family would abide by their collective unspoken rule that preying on fears was considered lower than a low blow.

So then, what exactly was going on?

Thatch could feel his heart beating faster, he could hear the blood rushing past his ears and making the thumping of his heart all that more amplified.

Thatch knew there was nothing to fear but fear itself or the debt collectors whenever they decided to pay someone a visit, but the latter was nothing to worry about at the moment. Thatch's fear of the dark was odd at his age, he was aware of that, but still it was not something he could easily explain. Thatch didn't believe in the supernatural or truly evil creatures no matter how much he read about them or saw a movie pertaining those concepts, he knew the world as he saw it, fair to some and unjust to others.

So then why was he panicking?

The persistent cold latched onto Thatch like a vise and refused to let him go even after he had come to terms with his situation not being a dream.

Shiver after tremble racked Thatch's frame for an unknown amount of time. Five minutes could have passed by without his knowing, or an hour, maybe even an entire day. Thatch didn't know. All he was aware of was his constant discomfort, and the rising fear he had tried to squelch and failed to do so on many occasions.

In the beginning of his captivity Thatch called out to the dark. He made all of the standard requests, asking where he was, demanding what was wanted from him. He offered what he didn't have but could get his hands on as a bargaining catch, Thatch even offered things he had no idea how to procure but was willing to try. And each time he called out he was answered by deafening silence and cold.

The dark was no friend, but that was no surprise. Pretty soon Thatch found that he no longer knew when his eyes were wide open or when they were closed. The pitch black curtain before him was the same either way, it remained unmoving and all consuming.

The sickly stench that had surrounded him earlier had vanished as well, either annihilating his sense of smell or wearing it down until he was used to it. Thatch had a sinking suspicion that it was the former.

At one point he tried to count the time as well, counting from seconds to minutes, but who was to know if he was counting too fast or too slow?

The wait was maddening, and Thatch was starting to think that there truly was a Hell out there and he had done something invariably horrible to land himself some sort of personalized version of it.

Seconds, minutes, eons after that thought had wrapped around Thatch's head and buried its claws where they may, something akin to a miracle happened. A tiny sliver of light danced into the room right before it widened and burned Thatch's vision with such ferocity that he was forced to recoil into the wall behind him in order to escape it's intensity. But Thatch could only go so far before the chains began to make their displeasure known.

Again, an insufferable millenia crept by as Thatch did his best to shield his face from the agonizingly bright light that threatened to melt his eyes right out of his sockets. He was grateful for the light, he was happy to be out of the darkness that had surrounded him just a few moments ago, but he was not prepared to face the wrath that it brought with it. There was only one unsettling concern that came with the light, however.

Did the beacon of light confirm his death, or was it a new Hell he was to go through?

Thatch didn't know, and part of him was afraid to find out. The brightness remained, however, even after his heart had sped up and slowed down to normal. After the blood stopped rushing in his ears, Thatch heard something new. Footsteps began to resound across the room, the soft rhythm of _step, glide, step_ echoed in the small space until the newcomer came closer, somehow managing in avoiding stepping on the questionable mush that littered the ground.

Thatch counted the steps… fourteen… twenty-three and finally thirtyseven when they stopped just before him.

Thatch didn't need to open his eyes in order to know that the person was in front of him. He could _feel_ the other's presence all too well. Under normal circumstances Thatch would have been completely oblivious to another person's close proximity, but because his senses were heightened beyond their normal state, there was no way he _couldn't_ be aware of the other person. Not to mention that the new presence screamed to be acknowledged and demanded attention in a way that shook Thatch to his very core.

In a painstakingly slow movement Thatch finally forced his eyes to open despite their clear protests only to slam them shut once again when they were assaulted by the burning light.

"Does it hurt to gaze upon me, human?" a voice above Thatch spoke into the deafening silence.

Thatch worked to place the name to the voice, but no matter how much his brain struggled through the dense fog in his memory, he came up empty handed. Thatch could not recognize the voice no matter how hard he tried. And yet, despite his obvious discomfort with the situation and the nagging feeling that the newcomer could very well be the one who placed him there, Thatch found himself wanting to be closer to the mysterious person.

Thatch wanted to find some reassurance in the other person, to find a clue or at the very least an inkling of _something_ that made the other more welcoming, but he couldn't find anything of the sort. While it was true that the voice was void of all ill will, it wasn't completely warm either. Where an open warmness usually laced the voice of a helpful stranger, this one contained none. And somehow Thatch could not find it within himself to completely ignore his inclination to listen to the voice and seek comfort in it. Was Thatch so desperate for any contact other than the oppressing darkness around him that he sought out this strange voice?

He didn't know and in all honesty, Thatch really couldn't find it in himself to care too much. Despite this realization, or lack thereof, his own voice eluded him when he opened his mouth to speak. Thatch fought against the restriction in his vocal cords, but still no words were formed.

After his second attempt, Thatch stayed uncharacteristically quiet.

"Are you incapable of speech, or do you lack comprehension skills? I am speaking the tongue native to your geographical area, am I not?" the person asked.

All Thatch could manage out though was a dry guttural sound at the back of his throat as he lowered his hand cautiously.

The light impaled his eyes once more, and though the effect was less severe, it was there all the same. Thatch had to blink furiously multiple times while tears collected at the edge of his vision, threatening to spill.

"I understand," Thatch managed out after a minute. "And if you didn't blind me after hours of pitch black, I'd have a better time seeing."

"Hours?" the monotone inquired. "It's only been minutes since your Ascendence. Seven minutes to be exact."

Thatch was stunned, seven minutes. How had that eternity of darkness amount to a mere _seven_ minutes. It didn't make any sense, and Thatch couldn't wrap his mind around how that small amount of time could ever equate to the lonely eternity in Hell he had experienced.

"What?" the question scraped out of Thatch's throat without his meaning to.

The silhouette before him didn't move, didn't seem to breathe even, he just stood there. Silence took over the small space once again and Thatch had to pinch his palm to make absolutely sure that he was in fact aware of himself and not hallucinating.

"What, what?" the person finally replied.

Thatch wasn't sure if it was his own nerves, his lack of sleep, the risen fear, or the emotionless tone of the other that caused him to raise his voice.

"How was that wait only _seven_ minutes long? What is going on here? Where exactly am I? What do you want from me? What have I done. Why am I here?"

If his outburst affected the entity before him, the man gave no outward sign of it. He continued to stand there in his uncanny off-putting way making Thatch fidget under his cast shadow.

"Why not?" the creature asked.

And though Thatch could detect no outright malice in those words, just hearing them in that detached, uncaring, and callous voice chilled him to the bone. All warmth he had thought he had managed to conserve vanished and fear began to take its place.

"What do you mean why not, there has to be a reason. People aren't just taken from their houses without a–"

"You serve a purpose for us. Tonight you will fulfill that objective and cease to exist. That is the reason for your abduction." the other said, cutting into Thatch's sentence and effectively silencing him.

Thatch had to process the words in his mind over and over again until he caught onto the kicker _cease to exist._ Now Thatch might not have been in his right state of mind in that moment, but 'cease to exist' usually meant that he was doomed to, well, not exist! And he very much liked existing.

In the time that it took for him to grasp those words, the man began to retreat. The echoing footsteps brought Thatch back to the present.

"No! Wait!" Thatch called out and lunged after the nameless man, though the attempt proved to be futile. Thatch had managed to push off of the wall he had been pressed against and stood to take two steps before the chains reached their limit. Thatch fought against the restraints but instead of gaining ground he found himself slammed face first into indistinguishable goop on the floor.

The putrid scent of the substance hit Thatch like a freightliner going at full speed, but even that didn't stop him from trying to reach out to the retreating form before him one last time. Whatever that shit was on the floor filled his mouth, but Thatch didn't have time to think about what was in his mouth, he needed to get answers, he needed to get out and live and see his family again. He did not need the dark to return.

No words could be pushed past the gunk that clogged his throat and Thatch was forced to watch as the man left the cell. What he saw in that fleeting moment shook Thatch to the very core just as the darkness swallowed him whole once again.

It couldn't be could it? Had Thatch just seen what he had thought he seen? But how could it… How could it be?

These questions went through the captive man's head as the taste of the filth in his mouth coupled with his emotional distress finally caught up with him and his body sought a way to detoxify itself. Thatch didn't even try to hold back the surging sensation as he retched and heaved every last ounce of his stomach onto the floor, adding to the filth that was already coating the floor. Thatch could feel rather than see the tears that were spilling from his eyes, just as he could feel his bile coating his already soiled hands.

Moments passed and Thatch was left to catch his breath in shallow pants while his disheveled hair spilled onto his forehead and temples, sticking to his sweat covered skin.

All the while the same image replayed again and again in his mind. His focus was not on the unfathomable beauty of the man's handsome face, nor his impossibly golden eyes. Instead his mind repeated something that just _shouldn't_ be possible. When Thatch's visitor had taken his leave, there was something odd on his back… Two large appendages had been protruding from his shoulder blades. They had been a pair of dark ebony dyed wings.

There were no other words for what Thatch had witnessed. What else was he supposed to call two huge long feathered extensions on a person?!

Those wings had been surrounded in total darkness when he had been in front of Thatch. They had been indiscernible in the cell, clinging to and molding into the shroud of darkness that had already claimed the space. If it hadn't been for the stream of light in the doorway, Thatch would have never seen the outline of the wings. If he hadn't seen them, then maybe Thatch wouldn't have to recognize their existence.

And that acknowledgment alone brought on a whole new set of questions to Thatch's mind.

Was he a captive to a cult? Or…?

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thatch has been chosen, how will he manage to get himself out of this? Or can he ever hope to make it out of his situation?
> 
> As I have said earlier, this story was planned for the One Piece big bang but we were unable to see the even to the end. But my partner NamsterMonster [she has a seriously cute art blog on Tumblr please check it out if you can I'll link it here: bit. ly/2pLoZsM ] was awesome and kind and enough to want to see this story to the end with me, so she will be creating a doodle for each chapter so please look forward to that!
> 
> You can find this chapter's image here: bit. ly/2rgiGO2
> 
> For now we will let you absorb this chapter and will see you on the next update!
> 
> Please let us know what you think? Till next time


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